Through HouseElves' Eyes
by pauciloquent
Summary: This is a collab by NutsForWiress AND Reiz16. It's a sort of backstory about the main house-elves in the Harry Potter series, which would be Dobby, Kreacher, and Winky, and follows them, as well as other characters, through events that happened in the book as well as ones that we created ourselves. We're not sure about the rating yet, but we rated it T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fanfiction is a collaboration by NutsForWiress AND Reiz16. **

**Disclaimer: Neither of us are J.K. Rowling, obviously, and we don't own any part of the Harry Potter series. **

All of the house-elves who lived in Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry were hard at work in the kitchens, getting ready for tonight's dessert. They unveiled the silverware and dishes, scrubbing off the grime from dinner until they were sparkling clean.

One elf in particular was left to clean the work tables. The others walked by him quickly, trying not to meet his eyes. This elf would often strive for their attention, but in the end, it really didn't matter to him whether they noticed his hard work. He hummed to himself a happy, familiar tune as his rag was swept carefully across the counter by his deft hand. Every once in a while, he would look upon that rag and be reminded of how he used to wear something like it, back in the old days. It was one of the many reminders of his former enslavement. This thought was rather unnerving, but he didn't let it get to his head. His disposition was always quite cheerful and optimistic, much to the annoyance of some of the other, more negative house-elves.

Now, he was able to wear whatever he wanted. Today, he wore his favorite hat (which wasn't really a hat, but a tea-cozy), yet still fit comfortably between his two large ears. He also wore his favorite tie, the one with the horseshoe pattern. To complete his outfit, he wore a pair of shorts and brown shoes with mismatched socks. The older, more worn out sock was unlike the rag he scrubbed the tables with. It was a symbol of his freedom, one of the first articles of clothing he had ever worn after being freed from his master. He regarded the sock with much adoration.

Since the day he had received it, he had been able to do many more things than just freely pick out his own unique clothes. He could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he pleased. Still, he would have been content to simply work at Hogwarts, whether he was free or not. He liked working, after all. He would always be grateful to the person who had given him this sock. He was grateful to be FREE. THAT was what the other elves envied him for, but to him, it seemed simply to be a disliking.

In another corner of the room, there was another elf who was certainly NOT grateful to be free. She sat on her stool by the fireplace, feeling neither its comfort nor its warmth. Sometimes, as the embers crackled away at the charring log, the sound was enough to drown out the quietest weeping she made in misery or whatever else she could be feeling. Her clothes, tarnished with burns that were perhaps from the fire, seemed to weep in a strange way that fabric can.

Today, she cried out loud enough for everyone in the room to hear her. She took another staggeringly large swig of Butterbeer, the contents pouring into her mouth as well as on her dress. The other elves would try their best to ignore her as well. If they didn't approve of the cheerful one's attitude, then the more melancholy one seemed downright disgraceful in comparison.

The only one who did care for the pitiful elf was the other ignored one, even though the only thing they shared in common was that they were both loners. Even if she barely lifted a finger (which she usually did), he would always attempt to get her to work harder, unsuccessfully. When he couldn't do that, he would take over her chores for himself. He didn't mind the extra work; he only minded that she never tried. She was his friend. It was painful for him to look at her in her sad, grieving self, He simply couldn't get her to stop drinking, nor shake her from the depression that was overpowering her, but anything he could do to help her, he considered worth it.

She gave another quivering moan as she went about one of her rants. "Oh, Master!" she yelled. "Master, Winky is sorry! Winky didn't mean to lets him get away! Winky was only doing Winky's job! Don't be angry, Master!" Winky got up from her stool, its oaken wood making a chilling screeching noise as its rough surface rubbed against the floor, reminiscent to nails on a chalkboard. The other elves gave her questioning glances, as usual. Winky, of all people, leaving her stool before their work was finished, was something that could NOT be ignored. She never did such things. Her friend gave her a hopeful smile, as he was quite eager that she might have actually finished her tasks, for once.

A loud smash resonated throughout the kitchen, and at once, all the elves felt fearful and irritated. The elf with the rag's countenance fell. The bottle of Butterbeer had fallen, its liquid forming a dark, golden puddle. Winky held her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth. She shut her eyes and lurched forward. Her friend held out his arm as he opened his mouth to say something comforting, but never got the chance.

She sprinted down the aisle as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, screaming loudly. There was much destruction carried in her wake. An elf who held a tray of muffins was knocked over onto the blue tiled floor. The tray flew through the air, hitting another elf on the head. This elf shook his fist in anger, punching yet another elf by accident and wincing. Winky ran past her friend, who tried to catch her with his outstretched hand, but she didn't notice him, and instead stepped on his foot. He tripped into a nearby bag of flour, spraying it all over himself and the elves near him. The elf who had been punched in the face felt dazed, but had enough in him to let out his own cry. "DOBBY!" he yelled towards the now overturned bag of flour. "Control Winky! Get up!"

Dobby coughed out some of the flour, then staggered to his feet. He didn't bother wiping the flour off his clothes. He had a job to do. Dobby ran after his friend, calling out her name. Winky flashed him a nervous glance, and then continued on running. She bumped into a pot with boiling water on a stove. The elves near it rushed to get out of the way, but one didn't make it in time. He let out a shriek as the scolding water seared the flesh of his arm, and then proceeded to run. Another smashing sound was heard as the burned elf knocked over several dishes. He found salvation at the sink, turning the knob forcefully, as the cooler water soothed his wound.

Finally, Winky couldn't run anymore. She was facing a brick wall and Dobby was right behind her. Even though this stunt of hers was enough evidence to say she wasn't always in her right mind, she had enough sense to know this was the end of the ordeal. She admitted defeat by turning around and hanging her head in silence. Dobby put his arm around her as he escorted her to her quarters. The elf who was hit in the head with the muffin tray, the burned elf, and the elf who was punched in the face escorted each other to the infirmary.

Unlike the rest of Hogwarts, a male elf was perfectly able to come and go into the living quarters of the females at his leisure. Dobby would be able to enter with no problems. "Winky is not tired," she stated, still standing in the doorway. Her tone was resolute, and her large brown eyes expressed to Dobby her discontent. "Still, Winky should try to sleep," Dobby suggested assuringly. He guided her towards her small iron-wrought bed, pulling down the covers and sheets. He then removed her faded turquoise hat. Her fingers curled up in displeasure, their last futile attempt, but they fell against her sides. Winky knelt down and got into bed, knowing it would be pointless to continue fighting.

Usually, Dobby would take her to the Room of Requirement if she was drunk enough, at a time like this, but it was superlative to give her rest at this point. The damage done here, though still minor, was of more annoyance to the other house-elves than usual, and he didn't want Winky to be punished.

Dobby stayed in the room until Winky fell asleep. He always did this, just to make sure. She turned in the other direction, opposite of himself. He never saw her eyes close, but knew the moment she fell asleep as soon as she let out a soft snore. Her cries of depression were displeasing to his ears, but her snoring often reminded him of the whimpers of a puppy. Checking to see if she was truly asleep (she had fooled him, once or twice) Dobby crept over to her other end. She smiled as she slept. Winky was always happiest asleep. In fact, it seemed like the only time she ever was happy. She was probably dreaming of the family who used to own her. Another snore directed Dobby's attention to her nose. It was shapely and round, and reminded Dobby once again of a pup. He then found himself smiling.

Satisfied she could no longer cause any harm, Dobby tip-toed quietly out of the room. He closed the door, grunting at the heaviness of its wood. (No matter where a house-elf worked, the houses were never built for their size.) Dobby sank down, his back pressing firmly against the door. Taking care of Winky was hard, at times. She was always difficult, fighting him every chance she got. Still, Dobby never did mind. The only thing he ever wanted was for her to be happy. She was NEVER happy when she was awake, of course. Dobby was forever loyal to his friends. He helped them as much as possible, but even he couldn't help Winky. The elf constantly had to tell himself that even if she would always be unhappy, it didn't mean he had to be unhappy, too.

Picking himself up, Dobby thought of shaking the flour off of his clothes. Then, becoming conscious of the fact that this simple action would dirty the floor, he walked to his own room. He found a new pair of shorts and a sweater in his drawer. He took off his hat, and then saw it was also dingy. Looking at his feet, he saw that all of the clothes he was wearing were covered in white. He stepped over to his mirror. Dobby did not often gaze into his reflection. He never felt the need to, and figured there was not much to look at, anyhow. This was something he reserved for unusual occasions. His entire body was immersed in the flour, even every inch of his pink skin. He compared himself to one of the many ghosts that roamed the halls of Hogwarts.

He then approached his laundry hamper. Dobby knew that half of the white dust would come off if he put on new clothes, but still felt inclined to do this. He removed his shirt and shorts, letting them fall into the hamper. He was also quite reluctant with removing his socks, especially the older, more valuable one. Dobby finally let it fall, watching it carefully as it did so. He promised himself that he would place it right back on his foot as soon as he cleaned it. There wasn't nearly as much flour on his hat, so he shook it over the hamper until it seemed presentable. He tapped his hand lightly on the bottoms of his shoes, also bidding their ashen-white dust good-bye. They were the last thing he put on before exiting the room.

Dobby returned from his quarters feeling very much like he needed a rest, himself. His work was not finished, yet, though. His eyes rifling around the kitchen, Dobby saw that the other elves had yet to clean up the broken dishes, or Winky's Butterbeer. They most likely expected him to do so. Dobby almost let out a sigh at that moment, but then he shrugged it off and got out the trash can.

He started humming again, as he walked towards the dishes. The trash can was almost as big as he was, so he had to drag it along with him instead of carrying it. His humming started to form out a nice little song, which he kept repeating. As he picked up his final piece of glass, the group of injured elves sauntered in. The one who was hit with the tray seemed perfectly fine, albeit a bit guilty-looking, but the elf who he had punched was holding a bag of ice to his face. The burned elf had a bandage on his hand. (Apparently the infirmary workers weren't so keen to spare some magic to heal a few minor complaints of the house-elves.)

Dobby immediately got up from his station, rushing over to apologize. He bowed his head in consternation as he spoke. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby did not mean for Winky to hurt anyone! Next time, Dobby will do better!"

The elf who had been hit with the metal tray prepared to speak, but the punched elf spoke for him. "Fine, fine, fine. But Dobby better mean it!"

"Dobby DOES mean it, sirs!" Dobby affirmed. He really did mean it.

The other elves then took to ignoring him, again, returning to their work. All was once what it was earlier that day. The only proof of anything going amiss was a broken and empty Butterbeer by the fire, and a missing Winky. Dobby dragged the trash can over towards the fireplace. He stepped into a puddle, and realized he would need something to clean it up. He walked back to the countertops to get his rag.

His reflection was distorted in the murky beer-glass. This was unlike his clear image in the large mirror of his room. Dobby scrubbed the floor as quickly as he could muster. There was no humming from his voice this time. He wrung the rag out into the trash, not bothering to wring it out in the sink. Dobby then began the task of picking up each and every piece of broken glass. He hated that bottle. Even though it was now shattered, he wished he could break it even more. Dobby never knew that one could loathe an object, until his friend became a drunkard.

The sound of the main door opening reverberated throughout the room. All eyes fell on the entrance, save for Dobby's. He assumed it was another house-elf, and went about his business. He certainly was not in the mood for anything else, and besides, he had too much work to do.

It was Professor McGonagall at the door, and indeed, a house-elf, too. The Professor stood tall compared to the elf at her side. He did not even reach her torso. He had many large, deep wrinkles on his face (clearly not from laughter) and plenty of white hair grew out from his ears. It was obvious the professor was old, but appeared quite fine for her age. The house-elf was aged to the point until he was both decrepit and antiquidated.

Professor McGonagall was wearing her favorite tartan emerald robe, as well as keeping her hair securely in a bun. The elf had on a rag, the prevalent reminder of every house-elf's enslavement. Her familiarly stern demeanor, however, was replaced with a lucent visage. Considering the situation, she still gave the impression she was enjoying herself.

On the other hand, the elf beside her was definitely NOT enjoying himself. He glared back at the dozens of large eyes staring at him and put on a sarcastic scowl. He grimaced as he took in his new surroundings. Out of the corner of the room, he discerned there was another elf cleaning by the fireplace. The flames illuminated the lone elf's features. There was something about him, a certain vibe. The new elf didn't like it. He made a mental note to try to ignore this particular elf as much as physically possible.

At that moment, Professor McGonagall decided to tell them the news, her tone as light as her expression, albeit a tad concerned.

"Good evening. I heard from the nurse there was a commotion. Is everything all right?"  
Not a single elf replied; not even the injured ones. There was simply no reason to, now that the situation had been resolved. The professor took this as a hint to continue.  
"In any case I have a new... Uh, um..." Her warm expression became a look of subtle confusion as she struggled to find the right word.

What WAS the right word? Co-worker? Friend? Fellow house-elf?

Finally, Professor McGonagall decided the best course of action was to get right to the point.

"Everyone," she began again, her face returning to its normal aspect. "This is Kreacher."  
Dobby had finally finished with the glass, feeling much better. He looked up at the witch and the elf. He shook his head, silently chastising himself for having forgotten his manners. Dobby's large eyes focused intensely on the newcomer. He found himself unable to look away, although he did not know why.

Kreacher caught Dobby's unwavering gaze and looked down on him with much contempt. He could not understand why just the person he had chosen to pay no mind to at all was staring right at him. Sure, the other elves were doing the same thing, but this one stood out for some reason. There was an ascending tension in the air, and neither elf knew exactly to what extent their futures would intertwine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Through House-Elves' Eyes: Chapter 2**

Dobby, who had gotten past his shame of inattentiveness, continued to gaze at Kreacher with steady eyes. The new elf narrowed and averted his vision. Mcgonagall was standing near. They were the only ones in the kitchen; everyone else had probably gone to sleep. It was rather late.

Dobby, though now left with a hollow feeling of disappointment, felt that he should give Kreacher another chance. There must have been a reason for his bitterness.

What was strange, though, was that Kreacher decided to stare at him, of all people. He wasn't some sort of walking light-beacon, unless he'd been misinformed. He was quite positive in nature, but he hadn't been when Kreacher was eyeing him.

_Maybe there was still a patch of flour left on Dobby's hat, _thought he. _It must have seemed strange that Dobby was sitting there, cleaning furiously, with a dirty hat on Dobby's head. Out of character, almost._

But that seemed too much like an excuse for what had happened to consider. And Dobby had double-checked his hat in any case.

It was still strange, though. And the new elf did feel oddly familiar, although he was sure he had never seen him before.

* * *

Dobby stopped thinking and looked about his surroundings. A tired-looking Professor Mcgonagall was smiling a bit sheepishly, and an even more tired-looking Kreacher glared at Dobby with evil eyes.

"Dobby, is your mind in the present?" the professor inquired softly. "You seem to have fallen into some sort of stupor for the last 5 minutes."

"Dobby's apologies, miss," Dobby stressed, fidgety, "Dobby did not means to lose his concentration! Next time, Dobby will pay more attention. Much more," he added hurriedly.

"300 seconds is a pretty long wait, you Dobby twit," Kreacher grumbled, "and Kreacher doesn't like waiting much."

Dobby looked at him apologetically and somehow felt that he should still give him a second chance. It wasn't his fault he was so negative and depressed; a reason there must be.

Cryptologists are working on his thoughts today.

* * *

"Dobby will - Dobby will help Kreacher get acquainted to these surroundings," Dobby said shakily. He heaved an internal breath.

"Are you certain, Dobby? After all, Kreacher - he - well - "

"Kreacher knows what ya mean, old lady," Kreacher interrupted, "and every last bit of it's true. Kreacher has troubles with cooperation, tolerance, and nice people in general. Take yer pick."

The professor looked mildly offended, but not in the least bit surprised.

He continued. "And Kreacher is also a little scheming, depressed, grumbling idiot who doesn't deserve anybody's friendship. Go take that into consideration, old lady."

"Well, Kreacher, despite your, um, unusual description, which I wouldn't say is false, you are going to sleep in either of the beds next to Dobby, both of which are empty. This you can pick yourself. The next morning, you will aid Dobby in the kitchen, where you indeed will get used to these circumstances. _Hopefully._

_"_And don't forget, Dobby, it's Goyle's birthday tomorrow. He's the chubby boy from Slytherin who usually sits very close to the front and center of his house table. He requested that a lemon meringue pie be made and brought to him personally at suppertime in the dining hall. I trust that you and Kreacher will be able to do so?"

* * *

After having led Kreacher to the male house-elves' dormitory, pointing out random sights along the hallway while doing so, Dobby collapsed on his bed, exhausted by multiple things.

These "things" included not only the fact that he had to lead the sarcastic elf around new territory, but that the elf was sarcastic. Sarcasm is, of course, a lovely thing when unoffensive, but there is a certain extent at which sarcasm becomes the clichéd insult. Dobby was not particularly fond of insults, especially ones given by an elf whose ears were in dire need of a haircut.

Dobby continued to stay, frozen in place, on his worn, familiar bed. He could swear that he saw his life rushing past his tired, busy eyes; in the distances, a faded grumble about dirty socks.

"How **dare** Kreacher insults Dobby's prized possession!" seethed Dobby.

"Kreacher has every right to," sneered he, "and Kreacher doesn't think that a 'prized possession' - " he made quotation marks in the air - "should smell of fish."

_Somehow, all the other house-elves are sleeping through this, _thought Dobby._ Dobby can, too._

As if on cue, a house-elf - the one who got hit by the tray earlier - rolled over and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Rolling his eyes slightly at the coincidence, Dobby literally threw himself upon his pillow - which felt feather-soft compared to Kreacher's words - and tried as hard as he could to ignore the latter.

* * *

The faint flapping of a thousand owls' wings was overpowered by the sound of stretching house-elves, one loudly muttering Kreacher, and a tired, bemused Dobby. Sunlight admitted its soft filtering rays through the single large window of the dormitory, but did nothing to make the prospects of the day any better.

After washing up and getting dressed, house-elves filed out of the dormitory and into the kitchen, met by a yawning Winky. She looked innocent, like a sleepy child.

Dobby had agreed to work with Kreacher on the kid's birthday dessert, the lemon meringue pie. That, thankfully, was only in the evening.

About halfway through the afternoon, Winky complained of an awful headache, so Dobby took her down to the infirmary and made sure that there was no Butterbeer within her reach. She often drank it when she was in pain, but for a headache...it would only make it worse afterwards, and she didn't know that.

Kreacher had remained in the kitchen, as before, during that whole time. When Dobby came back, he had done no work and made no progress, except in swearing violently at everyone who passed him. The rest of the house-elves were quite mad at Dobby. After all, technically Kreacher was HIS responsibility. Dobby made a mental note to take Kreacher with him whenever possible.

In a way, this was even worse than Winky in her drunken state; Kreacher, drunken with his curses and insults and possible fears.

* * *

Now, it was nearing evening. Winky had remained at the infirmary all day, and she didn't seem to have any intention of leaving. Right now, it was the students' suppertime, only the beginning of it. Dobby and Kreacher (well, mostly Dobby) had finished their part in the cooking, and now their only task, until dessert, was to wipe down the kitchen tables, a task that allowed distraction.

Dobby felt a bit heavy-headed for some reason. He looked towards the kitchen door instinctively. It was a closed door, but unlocked, as usual. The doorknob was also far too high up to reach, as usual. He climbed up the counter slowly and grunted as he managed to reach for the doorknob and twist it open. In a gymnastic feat, he stayed hanging upon the doorknob and then jumped and wedged his foot between the door and the wall, then pushing it open with his hands and relieving his foot of the pressure.

Why can't house-elves magically open DOORKNOBS, of all things? he thought to himself, wheezing.

He peeked through the slit of the door and noticed something that appeared entirely coincidental, but in reality wasn't.

Goyle was sitting at the Slytherin table, front and center as usual. He was the first student Dobby noticed. Next to him was an equally greedy-looking but less chubby companion. Dobby didn't know his name.

They appeared to be eating entire (thankfully, cooked) chickens, and their behavior would easily bring tears to any vegetarian's eyes. They were eating like two wolves, albeit slightly piggish wolves.

A blond boy who Dobby could only describe as icy sat next to them with a slightly disgusted expression on his face. He looked extremely familiar.

He looked towards the two with a smirk and they stopped mid-bite, mouths open, drool and chewed chicken visible clearly even from the kitchen door.

Dobby leaned against the door a bit more, opening the crack a bit wider.

"I wanted a pie fo' muh birfday taday," Goyle told the blond kid through his mouthful.

"So what did you do?" the blond one pressed with a sneer. "And swallow your food before you answer me, idiot."

Goyle swallowed his food and took another bite. "I ohduhed - "

"You odored? Why on earth - and swallow your food, idiot!"

Goyle swallowed and bit again. "I - "

"I said for you to swallow. That does not mean that you can take another bite, fool."

"He means ordered. He ordered the house-elves to do it," said the skinnier one nervously, with a dumb-person overtone.

"I see, Crabbe," said the student who was becoming more and more familiar by the second. "Thank you for stating the obvious. Now, dear Goyle. You were simply and divinely CLEVER, I say!"

Goyle grinned foolishly. Crabbe pouted.

He continued. "Using the stupid house-elves to your advantage...a wise use of skills. I'm amazed that I didn't think of it myself."

"I also asked 'em to deliver the pie to me, since it's my birthday and alls," Goyle said smugly, jabbing Crabbe with his elbow.

The blond one plastered a nasty half-smile on his face. "Good job. And happy 5th birthday, you twit."

"5th? You sure?"

The meal was almost over. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were walking around the Dining Hall. Malfoy decided to catch up to them.

"So. The half-witted half-blood walks with his friends, the Mudblood and the traitor. Beautiful, isn't it?"

All three of them simultaneously began, "Don't call us that, you little - "

"I was merely stating the truth. It's something that even the most stupid of the already stupid house-elves could realize."

"**They're not stupid! None of them are! **All of them are, in fact, **smarter than you, you snake!" **If you read the novels and paid any attention to them, you could probably guess who said that. If you couldn't, it was Hermione.

"If they were smarter than me, they wouldn't have agreed to bake Goyle a pie and bring it to him personally. I mean, Goyle is...um..."

Goyle was sitting nearby and did not comprehend the hidden insult.

"It's not their fault! That's their job! And besides, they deserve freedom!" Hermione practically screamed.

"And we deserve freedom from your **insults**," said Harry quietly. "They're worse than any enslavement."

"And we also deserve freedom from starvation! Let's go get dessert!"

"Dessert isn't here yet, Ron..."

"Then...um...let's get seconds. Before dessert comes."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other and sighed. Malfoy, who Dobby had not yet recognized, smirked and walked back towards Slytherin table.

* * *

Dobby felt a quiet breath at the back of his neck. He turned around and found Kreacher.

"Kreacher? What is Kreacher doing here? Kreacher is supposed to be wiping downs the tables."

"So is Dobby. And Kreacher has every right to be here. Besides, did Dobby realize that Dobby is supposed to be makings that pie for the quarter-wit by now?"

"Dobby? Mcgonagall said Kreacher is supposed to help Dobby."

"Kreacher will help Dobby by not insulting Dobby, if Kreacher can manage to. Dobby is too much of an annoyance to leave alone."

Dobby looked at Kreacher with a slightly crazed glint in the eye and a twisted smile.

"Eh, fine. K-Kreacher'll help you."

Kreacher wondered why.

* * *

Seconds later (but not necessarily the food kind), the kitchen door burst open, taking Dobby and Kreacher with it. As they expected, it was Hermione. Her hands clutched a lidded, black, very small, and very ordinary cube.

"You %&$# ! Why did you &%#$ $%&# the door on Kreacher?" Kreacher cursed, spitting at the floor at the end of the insult.

Hermione looked first at Dobby, then painfully at Kreacher. None of the rest of the house-elves seemed to have noticed, busy in an avalanche of sound and crashing dishes and the like.

"Um...that snake offended you house-elves! You must take a stand!" Only Kreacher and Dobby heard her.

"Well, you two will have to do. Harry has told me about you, Dobby, and you as well, Kreacher. Although he speaks more fondly of Dobby, I'm afraid. I'm guessing there's a reason for that...?"

"Harry Potter is a %&#$ numbskull."

"Kreacher, how many synonyms for 'idiot' does Kreacher even KNOW?" Dobby asked him slowly.

"More than Dobby. Kreacher has a very extensives and knowledgeables vocabulary, which makes Kreacher smart."

"Certainly..."

"Well," Hermione interrupted, "I wanted you two house-elves to do some justice to yourselves and the rest of the elves."

She removed the lid slowly. It yelled multiple sayings of justice, freedom, how smart and deserving house-elves are, etc. She then closed the lid once more.

"I designed this using the same concept as the Howler envelope that Ron once received from his mother. I call it the Voice-Box. However, it has another feature; you can control the volume. Whenever you hear somebody insulting you or other house-elves, or just house-elves in general, I'd like you to go up to them, shove the box in their face, and turn it on full-earsplitting volume. Make sure to wear earplugs."

Hermione smiled and left the kitchen.

* * *

Two minutes later, Dobby and Kreacher were making the lemon meringue pie. Dobby had put himself in charge of the mixing of the lemon and meringue fillings, while Kreacher made the dough (well, somewhat, at least). They were practically done, thanks to the aid of elf-magic, cliche as that sounds.

Kreacher was just starting to pour the boiling-hot lemon filling into the crust, but of course Kreacher decided to insult him about how fat he looked from that angle, as well as a scattering of curse words. An especially bad one caught Dobby off guard, and he accidentally spilled lemon on his arm, burning himself. He saw something splash into the filling at that same moment, but assumed it was his imagination.

And, of course, Dobby made sure to add the perfect touch in meringue cream.

"Happy 5th Birthday!"

* * *

As Dobby and Kreacher walked out the kitchen door, holding the pie (well, Dobby was holding it, at least), they noticed that dessert was in full session, which wasn't very unusual. Some students were just eating like normal people would; others were scarfing down their sweets as if the food could run away at any given moment. Or maybe as if they were dying of starvation. Whatever.

They approached Slytherin table, where Goyle was, indeed, scarfing down his dessert to no end. It seemed as though he had eaten a horrifyingly large quantity of food, judging by the number of licked plates surrounding him, and all in a few minutes, too; that was the amount of time that had passed as dessert had started. Goyle didn't seem to notice them.

"Pig. Vile, half-wit pig," Kreacher told Dobby. "And for once, Kreacher doesn't mean Dobby."

Crabbe poked Goyle in the arm repeatedly. "Gooooyle," he whined. "Gooooooooyle."

"That %&$ # pig should die," Kreacher whispered.

"Kreacher shouldn't say that!"

"Shut up."

"Wha - oh! My birfday cake is here!" Goyle said through a mouthful. "Happy...fiff...birfday. So Malfoy was right!"

_Pie, not cake, _thought Dobby. _And...Malfoy? Was it really..._

Before Dobby had time to finish his thoughts, Goyle licked the entirety of the filling out of the pie crust in one swallow, by incredible and seemingly impossible means. But this was, after all, Goyle.

Goyle began choking.

The blond, who for some reason was absent during all this, rushed to Goyle's side, mouth hanging in a perfect oval. "Are your jaws and esophagus **magical**?"

Dobby widened his eyes. _Malfoy. __Draco Malfoy. Son of Lucius. _

Goyle turned from blue to purple.

By now, teachers had come to Goyle's aid, much to no avail.

Students had started gathering about Goyle's blue self - it was a wonder he hadn't died yet. Crabbe seemed to have left.

Kreacher stood nearby, patient, for once. Dobby decided to perform CPR on Goyle, but, of course, nobody besides Kreacher noticed what he was doing.

Suddenly Goyle coughed up a small, black, and very familiar object, and a voice started to issue out of his throat, a foreign, angry, mechanical voice.

"House-elves deserve freedom! Let them be free! Don't treat them like slaves! They are smart and talented! House-elves deserve freedom! Let them be free! Don't treat them like slaves! They are smart and talented! House-elves deserve freedom! Let them be free! Don't treat - "

Hermione widened her eyes. "That cube was meant to be a defense mechanism, not a murder tool... and now the house-elves will be bl - Malfoy!" she whispered with anguish. She pulled out her wand slowly and threw - literally, THREW - a spell at Malfoy.

"_Aguamenti!"_ Instantly a stream of water shot out and drenched Malfoy.

"_Avis Oppugno!" _A flock of birds appeared from the tip of Malfoy's wand and proceeded to attack not only Hermione, but every person in the room. Soon people were randomly cursing each other. Somebody mistakenly put the Babbling Curse on Crabbe and Goyle (who had recovered from choking) and it had no effect on them.

"_Confundo!" _Half of the people in the room became confused, forgot what they were doing, and started to randomly curse even more.

Dobby and Kreacher stepped into a small corner of the room and had somehow been able to dodge most of the spells - except, of course, Dobby, who had for some reason acquired the Hair-Thickening Charm and now possessed a head of hair that was longer than his body, removing the charm of the situation.

Somebody had used _incendio_ and most of the food on the dessert table was on fire, including the flambe pudding, which already was.

And for some reason, all of the teachers were absent from the situation...

"**Stop!**" yelled Dobby. "This is...this is horrid! Almost all of students are ruinings the Dining Hall! Students are making Dining Hall a pigsty! Why won't teachers stop this? Why? Why does Dobby, a pathetic little house-elf, have to stops it?"

"Aww, don't call yourself pathetic, Dobby," Hermione murmured. "It's not true."

"Blaaaaah. I can't stand it when people are all heroic like that, like Harry Potter always is," groaned Malfoy. "It's awfully cliche and unnecessary. Wait, you are Dobby? That stupid house-elf who used to work for us? Dobby?"

Dobby began trembling and stepped backwards slightly, crouching under a chair that happened to not be on fire.

"Don't call Dobby stupid! Kreacher means, Dobby IS stupid, but not always! STUDENT, whatever your name is, is STUPID! Kreacher hates this student! Curse this student! This student is a SNAKE!"

Hermione cheered silently, Dobby widened his eyes at Kreacher's remark and smiled, and Professor Severus Snape, who just *happened* to walk into the room at that moment, looked very, very angry.

"First of all," Snape began, "you are all responsible for this mess - but first and foremost, YOU are, Hermione. You began this with your little _aguamenti" - _at this point a stream of water shot out of Snape's wand and he looked quite embarrassed - "and you will receive punishment rightfully. Detention in my office for an hour a day, for a week. The rest of you students will clean the Dining Hall and will not go to bed until you finish. I do not care if you took place in this event or not, and whether you inflicted much damage.

"And I would also like to award a little punishment to dearest Kreacher, a lovely new house-elf who works in our kitchens - he insulted one of my students wrongfully, as well as almost killing a Slytherin with his own birthday present!"

"Kreacher d-didn't do it - "

"Dobby and Kreacher did it by accident!" Dobby interjected. "Not Kreacher's fault!"

Snape didn't seem to hear him.

"You, Kreacher, will sleep in a windowless, confined room tonight - and if it happens again, for a week. Enjoy."


End file.
